Can't Go Home Again
by aphelant
Summary: Part 2 of 'The Way Things Should Be'. **THIS IS A DEAD WIP! Read at your own peril.** Summary: What does the First Evil have in store for the Scoobies and their new friends? Probably lots of evil, hence it's name. Slight xover wAngel. BS, AC...eventually.
1. Moral Highground

_***A/N: Welcome, gentle readers, to part two of 'The Way Things Should Be': Can't Go Home Again. As you know (if you read the last chapter), the story was on hiatus - and still is. But I've been working hard on this chapter all through break, cuz I figured I'd give everyone a Christmas present. Now, I only have four classes this semester, so maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to update...oh, once a month? Ish? Hopefully! *crosses fingers* Enjoy!!***_

Clouds rolled by the window, close enough to touch. Like delicate pillows or downy hair they float, untouchable, untouched. To dip one's hand into them would be not only a travesty of something so naturally perfect, but the realization of every child's fantasy; what do they feel like? Are they as soft as they look?

Staring out the window, Rupert Giles did not think on this. His mouth was set in a tight line, his glasses tossed carelessly to the side, and in fact, he did not see the clouds at all, but rather a replay of moments that danced across his eyes like a moving picture.

'What does all this mean?' Giles asked himself, ruminating on the last day's events while soaring above endless water; a prophecy handed down through the generations and two strange new misfits additions to his Frankenstein family.

Dawn arriving home with traces of blood on her hands, a new potential, a prophet, an angel, a vampire and a Slayer following in her wake, bloodied but not broken, weary but not rundown. Explanations understandable and cryptic and nauseating so late at night before the seemingly unending flight to Heathrow and then the connecting flight to his ultimate destination.

When did everything get so out of control? Bloody buggering Powers that Be…

The stewardess paused at his side, offering coffee. He asked for Earl Grey and another pillow. Momentarily, he eyed the briefcase lying in the window seat before lifting it into his lap and popping the latches.

Pages and pages of notes, referenced translations, copies of maps and spells. A four page printout of descriptive and organized instructions in Willow's familiar hand. On and on it went; there was no room for interpretation here, no margin for error.

'Only Andrew would be able to bollocks this up,' thought Giles. The stewardess arrived with his tea and pillow, not a second glance given to the questionable contents of his belongings.

He sighed, snapping closed his briefcase and resigning himself to the sleep that had begun to tug at his eyelids. Propping his pillow behind his head, his eyes slid closed and for those precious few moments while his mind was completely unbiased and reflective, he thought that perhaps he had underestimated Spike all this time…

****

When Willow had arrived with the Potentials in tow, Giles had known something was wrong. Kennedy was dusty, Willow looked shaken, and Buffy was nowhere in sight.

"Where is she?" he'd asked, and he'd been presented with six simultaneous retellings of what transpired in the graveyard.

Now they all waited in strained silence, arguments finished, course of action decided.

"We should go help them!"

"No, Xander. If she'd wanted help she would have asked for it."

"Buffy can be extremely rash, Willow. Perhaps Xander's right…"

"She thought it was a trap. She was torn between saving her sister and protecting the girls. She did what she had to do."

"But what if she's wrong?"

They'd been silent since Anya's voicing of their innermost fears. What if Buffy was wrong? What if she'd chosen the wrong path and it ended in her death? Again?

But they stayed, immobile in their uncertainties, until they heard the voices outside. The front door opened - the room held it's breath.

"…and then, _Wham!_ Fire shot everywhere and the guy was burning! You should've seen it, Buffy; Dawn was amazing."

Spike, his arm draped across the younger Summer's shoulder, gave her a squeeze. "Just like her sis and mum, she is. Ain't that right, luv?"

Buffy smiled at them and nodded affectionately. "She's getting real good at fighting, considering she has no super-powers to help her."

The inhabitants of the house slowly leaked into the foyer to watch the easy and open conversation unfold. The mysterious boy was there, bringing up the rear, closing the door softly behind him. Two girls they'd never seen before were giving the Slayer and Vampire an account of their apparent battle against the First Evil's harbingers.

Willow cocked her head as she felt the waves of power emanating from the different people. One of the girls was clearly a Potential; half-realized strength coursing through her body, lingering beneath the surface. Dawn was resonating all sorts of strange auras, strength and intelligence and courage, too. The other girl reminded her of Tara, with her earthy blend of wiccan magic and raw power, but something of an unnatural mystic flavour came through as well. And that boy…Willow wasn't sure what to make of him. He was unlike anything she had seen before, both golden light and cloudy ferocity woven into a wicked blend of power. She shuddered lightly before Buffy caught her eye, effectively ending the silent observation.

"Hey," Buffy said, nodding towards them in greeting. Most nodded back, some did nothing, and Andrew, in all his nerd glory, excitedly waved in greeting.

"What happened?" Xander asked. Dawn rushed to tell her version of the story, but the other two girls quickly began interjecting and overriding with comments of their own.

"No, no! She was all with the plan-making, don't believe how she tells it."

"Oh, come on! I _so _could've kicked his ass!"

"No, there were more. There must have been! They were everywhere, hundreds of them!"

"Hundreds? Give me a break, Amanda. More like fifty."

"Nuh-uh! I counted, and I'm telling you there were 75, including the ones that Buffy and Spike and Zeke took out before they found us."

The girl they called Amanda and the still unnamed one rolled their eyes at Dawn, though Buffy nodded in agreement. "That sounds about right, Dawnie."

"75 Bringers! Are you joking! The six of you took out 75 Bringers…" Chloe looked about ready to pass out, but Vi jumped right in asking questions.

"How did you do it? Did you get hurt? Are there bodies or do they dust like vamps? Are there more? Can we go kill them?"

Giles pushed the inquisitive girl behind him and turned a wary eye to the newcomers. "Buffy, I'm glad to see you and Dawn are all right…" Spike's exclusion wasn't lost on her, and she folded her arms defensively across her chest, preparing for some long-winded speech about how careless she'd been, protecting vampires, inviting people of questionable loyalties into their fold, blah blah blabbity blah.

"…but I do wish you would have taken back up."

Her eyes narrowed. "I did." She gestured to Spike and Zeke. "Witness my backup, Giles."

He removed his glasses and began polishing them - Spike took it as his cue to head to the basement. The non-Scoobies felt the tension level in the room rise to considerable heights and felt extremely uncomfortable.

"Guys," Dawn began, but immediately an argument broke out between the adults in the room.

"It's not wise for you to be battling the First's minions on your own."

"I _wasn't_ on my own. Spike was with me. He's _always_ with me."

"What's that supposed to mean? That we're not there for you? Cuz we are Buffy, you just won't let us."

"Xander, let's not turn this into an attack on Buffy."

"Oh, so now there's something wrong with me? _Again?_"

"That's not fair Buffy…"

"I think it's very fair. You've been trying to fix everyone else's lives to your own liking without consulting them, demon or otherwise. I don't like it. It makes me twitchy."

"Well, geez. Sorry I make you _twitchy_ Anya. Would it help if I conjured up a bunny for you?"

"That isn't funny! Xander, tell her how not funny that is!"

"Don't attack Anya, Will. That won't get us anywhere."

"So now you're siding with her? I thought you were my best friend?"

"Yes, yes!" Spike bellowed from the basement. "He saved the world with a bloody crayon! Now can you gits stop being so self-involved and get to solving the real problem here!"

The Scoobies glanced at each other guiltily. Dawn cleared her throat.

"The Bringers attacked the school, Amanda's a Potential, Jade's the Prophet and, apparently, Zeke is the fallen angel."

"Protector, actually," he corrected, before disappearing into the woodwork again.

"I don't think they were after me. Or Jade, even. But Amanda was definitely a target. We barely escaped with our lives. _Thanks to Spike and Zeke_, not just Buffy." Dawn copied her sister's defensive stance, daring the others to question her judgment on this.

****

Spike was hungry; sitting in the basement, trying to catch snippets of The Conversation, and he had nothing else to distract him but the rumblings of his stomach and the moaning of his demon. He sighed wearily and rose from the cot.

Upstairs, Dawn had her ear pressed to the kitchen door, trying to hear everything Jade and Zeke were telling the others. She heard Spike clomping up the stairs and almost panicked at the thought of being caught before she realized that this is _Spike_ and he's probably wanting to know what they're saying too.

The basement door opened. Their eyes met - he nodded in greeting. He made his way to the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of blood. Keeping his curious eyes on Dawn, he reached sightlessly into the cupboard and unfalteringly pulled out Spike's Mug, the one Joyce had given him that night she comforted him after Dru left.

"Can you hear much from there?" he asked with a cock of his head. Dawn waved frantic hands of silence at him. They both paused, waiting for…

"What?" he demanded. She sighed.

"You totally made me miss something!" she whispered angrily before climbing onto one of the stools and starting one of the patented Summers pout sessions. Spike ran a hand through his hair and tried not to look at her fat bottom lip.

"Sorry Niblet. Didn't mean to ruin your fun."

"'S not _fun_…it's just I'll never find out otherwise, you know? If Buffy wanted me to hear everything she would've invited me to the meeting."

He eyed her askance. "Maybe it's not her that disapproves of you hearing all that nasty stuff, eh? I mean, look at me - I wasn't invited either. But anything important gets said in there, she'll tell me. She'll tell you too, I suspect."

Dawn's face brightened with hope. "Really?" she asked.

"Really." He handed her a mug. "How 'bout some cocoa then?"

****

Buffy set out to walk Jade home, and Zeke had just…left. No one was really sure where he was going. Willow was already upstairs getting Amanda settled in - it had been a unanimous decision that the girl should stay there now, since it was obvious that she was known to the First.

Giles rubbed at his sleep weary eyes. _Too much stress for an old man, I think_. He pushed himself heavily from the table, deciding on a cup of tea. Should he make a whole pot or just a cup? Perhaps Willow would like some when she comes downstairs…

He paused at the door to the kitchen as voices floated out to him.

"…it's just this little piece of metal, you know? It shouldn't be enough to stop William the Bloody, now should it? But it did. Well, that and falling for your sister, but that last part just made me a ponce."

"What's a 'ponce' anyway?"

"Loser. Pathetic. Um…well, I'm not a walking thesaurus. You want more, look it up."

"I will."

A gap in the conversation. Then;

"What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Your first kill."

Giles could picture the scene in his mind. Dawn would be sitting at the island, two hands wrapped around a mug of cocoa, staring into it's depths as if she was posing the question to some indefinable point within, rather than to the other person, the man leaning against the counter with an empty cup dancing between hands too active to put it in the sink.

And in fact, the image was picture perfect, except for one thing. The look of both horror and intrigue that had found residence in Spike's features.

For a time he did nothing, simply stared at his precious girl while she nervously awaited some form of answer. He wasn't sure what to say. He'd always been horrible with words, he knew that, mincing them and stretching them and contorting them into something unrecognizable. So he decided on the truth.

"It was wonderful. Amazing. I was filled with excitement and wonder and it made me more than a little hor-…happy! Made me very _happy_. It was a beggar, on the streets of London. Wasn't very tasty, mind you, but it sated something inside me."

"The demon," she whispered.

"Yeh, that's right. The demon. That thing inside me that screams for violent release. All the time. Every moment." He paused for dramatic effect, to make sure he had her attention.

Giles, on the other side of the door, was waiting on bated breath for him to continue his story. Though he was torn between barging in there and putting an end to a tale that would surely give the young girl nightmares, he couldn't help but be excited to finally learn something about William the Bloody, scourge of Europe. There was virtually nothing written about him, and it would be a bit of prestige for him to be the Watcher to land a chunk of Spike's biography.

"Even now," Spike continued, "even with the soul, sometimes…sometimes I want to lose control to the demon. It would be easier, not having to fight it anymore. It's a constant struggle - a tug-of-war.

"My first kill had no name; at least no name that I enquired after. I drank his blood, I tore apart his body, because I was _hungry_. Hungry for blood, hungry for carnage."

With supernatural speed he reached a hand across the counter and gripped Dawn's wrist. She gasped in panic and tried to pull away, but he had a grip of iron.

"Look at me," he demanded. Dawn met his eyes, and he saw the fear there, bordering on betrayal. But he didn't let go.

"What you did tonight…that wasn't murder." Dawn's eyes widened. Had she been that transparent? Did he know her that well?

"It was slaying. What your sister does every night to protect the world from evil. You saved my life tonight, Dawn. No one else was around to. No one else could have. You did what you felt you had to do. It was instinct, yeah?"

She nodded, still wide-eyed, and tears began to spill down her cheeks. With his free hand he wiped them away, smearing her make-up a little, getting mascara smudged onto his thumb.

Her throat began to choke up, and she didn't know if she could speak. "They look so human, though," she whispered hoarsely, a hiccup of sorrow marring her voice.

"So do I - but I'm still a demon."

Dawn was now sobbing. Spike pulled her into his cool embrace, muttering hushes and comforts as he stroked her hair and back. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, and they remained that way until her tears subsided.

Giles was…well, he supposed he was in awe. Of what, he wasn't entirely sure yet. And probably wouldn't be until he had a few healthy doses of scotch. He decided against the tea for the time being - he'd allow Spike to console Dawn a little while longer.

****

**Guess what? The next chapter's Spuffy!!! Bet you can't wait now! Mwahahahahaha!...**


	2. Broken Glass

__

**A/N: Promised you Spuffy, and Spuffy you shall receive. I slaved over this chapter all freaking weekend, just for you (well, for me too, I guess), greatly encouraged by the review from lim. Thanks so much for the support! Which brings me to the question…where are all my reviews? I know it's being read by more than one person! Come on, just click the button on the bottom, say 'I liked it!', and you're done. *nods* Cuz I'm a feedback whore. Anyways, it's a very long chapter, 10 pages typed (oooooo!!), and it's rated PG14 for mild sexual content towards the end. But you have to read the whole thing, not just skim to the bottom. :D Enjoy! ~Chelle~**

  
  
  


Buffy came home to a quiet house. The lights were off and the inhabitants were settled into their warm beds for the night. All but her…and apparently Spike.

"Hey," she said.

A smile turned the corner of his mouth. "Hey."

She stepped further into the kitchen and paused beside his perch on the counter. He held a long-empty mug in his hands, touching it only by the pads of his fingers. Sticking her finger inside, she tipped the lip towards herself and peered in.

"Mmm…dried blood. Very tasty. And also excruciatingly hard to get out of clothing and dishes. I thought I told you to rinse these out?"

Her reprimand lost weight when she flashed him a teasing smile. Taking the mug from him, she reached to put it in the sink when she paused.

"Who had cocoa?" Buffy asked.

Spike tilted his head and regarded her. Pensive frown, tightening shoulders, sharp movements…she's on the defence.

"Dawn," he replied. She turned concerned green eyes to his blue ones.

"Why? What's wrong? Oh, no. Did something happen while I was gone? Is that why you're still up?"

"Calm down, Slayer. It's nothing like that. It's just – well – she was a little upset."

She stared at him with the same expression of mingled fear and horror.

"About killing the Bringer."

"Oh." She frowned. "Why?"

He rolled his eyes. "Cuz she got blood on her hands, that's why. And not the metaphoric type, either. She's not a fighter like you and me. You've done a good job of protecting her from that, but it doesn't make this 'initiation' of sorts any easier."

"Well, that's hindsight for you." She sidled up against him, crossing her arms tightly against her chest and glancing at the ceiling. "You think I should talk to her?"

"Nah," he replied, leaning forward so he could look at her face, "I think our talk did her good."

"Your talk?" He nodded.

"As in, you talked to her?" He nodded again.  


"About _murder_?"

"Hey! It's not murder! That thing was a demon and you'd do bloody well not to say otherwise in front of the 'Bit. She's delicate enough as it is, what with finding out her friend's got an expiration date and nearly being killed ten times over tonight."

Buffy's eyebrows raised and she looked at him with mild indignance. "So now you're teaching her the ins and outs of demon-killing morals?"

"And what's wrong with that?"  


She opened her mouth as if to speak, then shut it again, firmly. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong with it."

Spike, his temper flaring, slid off the counter to his feet. Would nothing he did ever be good enough? Righteous enough? Would she never allow him to just _be_ who he is and not have to worry about seeking her constant approval?

"If you have something to say, Buffy, say it now. Cuz I'm listening."

He glared at her, daring her to say something, **anything**, and condemn herself to a full-on rant from the brassed off vampire. But her face softened, and the delicate frown on her face told him that she'd come to some sort of decision.

She reached out and took one of his clenched fists in her hands. Turning it over, she pulled each finger from its coiled embrace until his hand lay palm-upward in hers. Gently, she fit her hand into his and absently stroked patterns on the back with her thumb as she stared at him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Wanna patrol?"

****

Buffy and Jade had walked in an easy silence. They both enjoyed the night, especially quiet ones when they could clear their thoughts.

The school counsellor was trying to figure out how much of what Jade had told them tonight had been half-truths. Buffy was sure the heart-wrenching tale of the demise of everything Jade had ever known was entirely true. The pain behind the girl's eyes was a deep one; a pain she'd seen in her own eyes so many times before.

But after that, her story became a little sketchy. There were things she left out. Perhaps they were unimportant, perhaps they were too personal. But the thing that really bothered Buffy was the fact that she still didn't know who this girl was. Although, Jade didn't really seem to know herself.

Jade, on the other hand, wasn't so inquisitive about Buffy's life. She wasn't really interested. Her purpose was to deliver messages from the Powers - that was it. She didn't want to be caught in this fight for control of the planet between the Slayer and her band of misfits and all the forces of darkness Hell could spew their way.

No, she was much happier with her mind-numbing visions and strange impressions. Like the one she'd had in the alley. Her 'visions', the ones from the Powers, were given to her on account of that stupid prophecy. She had come to accept them, though at times they were a burden. However, her 'impressions', the talent she was born with, passed down through generations from her grandmother and her grandmother's grandmother and forever back into her ancestry, were what she'd always considered her true gift.

Anyone can receive visions. It took special blood to get impressions.

Her impressions were few and far between; but important. She'd had one the day she'd met Zeke - no one else had heard the duck, because the duck was making no sound. So the fact she'd had one in the alley while she was killing that vampire was very important. And even more important was the fact that she'd just now realized that she'd met the two blondes from that impression just hours earlier.

This needed explaining.

"I saw you."

The girl's voice was like shifting gears for Buffy; one moment she was happily driving down the Highway of Contemplation, and now suddenly she was thrown into neutral.

Buffy froze on the sidewalk and stared at Jade.

"You what?"

"I saw you in a vision. With Spike."

It seemed that Buffy's brain was now in park. She wasn't sure if she'd heard right, and frankly, if she had, she didn't want to hear it again. Her and visions were non-mixy things and only led to badness and chaos.

"What happened in the bathroom?" Jade asked, all open innocence and saccharine gaze.

It took Buffy a few tries to slide back into a normal gear, opening and closing her mouth a few times like a fish out of water, trying to understand where the water had disappeared to and why the air had gone. _Where's the air? _

Jade's posture of peace and tranquility made Buffy want to open up, to spill the contents of her heart right here on the sidewalk and sift through them all together, cuz Lord knows she would never be able to do it alone. But the whole truth was too personal, so she decided on the condensed version.

"It's…complicated."

She saw that Buffy was skirting around an uncomfortable topic. There was fear in her eyes, and self-loathing, and many other things she couldn't pick out in the short moment they were all present before Buffy's face became an emotionless mask in the woman's attempt to shut out Jade's prying ways.

Well, that wouldn't do.

"Uncomplicate it for me."

Jade had resolve face, and Buffy had seen it enough times on enough people to know that she wasn't going to get away from this conversation without a few lacerations to her heart. She took a deep breath and told her the same thing she'd told her sister when Spike had returned to Sunnydale after his sudden exit.

"Spike and I…stuff happened between us that neither of us are proud of. We hurt each other. A lot. The bathroom - that was the culmination."

"He did something that really scared you."

Jade wasn't asking questions. She'd seen it all in Buffy's face, both in the impression and right now, this moment, here in the cool night where the sky wasn't overcast and the breeze was gentle, while she could still remember with delicate accuracy the thrill of the fight and the exhilaration of the win and the absurdity of having a vampire comforting a crying teenager with blood on her hands and the anger she'd felt when Zeke had come but the happiness too and the longing and the need and the pure, pure hatred.

"Yeah, he did," Buffy whispered, and Jade realized that, for a moment, she hadn't been paying much attention and had almost missed it. "But I - I kind of deserved it. He was trying to make me see that I have feelings for him, but it got out of hand."

They had begun to walk again, much slower this time, to be sure that what needed to be said would be said, and simply enjoying the wonderful period of getting acquainted with a person's unique movements and personality.

"If you ask anyone else, they'll say he tried to rape me. Well, maybe Dawn won't. But he wasn't. Trying to rape me, I mean. He was hurting, and he wanted the pain to stop. He wanted me to admit my feelings, cuz I'd always denied them. But he lost control and…"

"…and he tried to force you to love him," Jade finished.

"Yeah."

"But it just made him seem like a monster."

"Yeah."

There was a pause, and Buffy was finding the sidewalk very interesting. _I will not cry, I will not. I will _not. 

"But you do. Love him."

She looked up sharply. "No! I - no…I don't."

There was another pause. "But you could."

Jade stopped walking and looked Buffy in the eyes, trying to communicate to her that she knew a thing or two about unconventional relationships and that it was okay to love someone even if they could sometimes be a monster…

"Well, this is my stop. Thanks for everything."

Buffy glanced up and realized that they had in fact arrived at Miriam's warm two-story red brick bungalow, complete with white-picket fence that pleasantly allowed the clematis to wind into it.

Jade was already unlocking the gate and stepping onto the inlaid stones of the front path when Buffy came to her senses.

"You're welcome."  


Jade smiled and waved as she opened the front door and walked inside. Buffy had stood a long time at the fence before she left for home.

****

Buffy and Spike, on the other hand, were walking in a very strained silence. Mostly because she hadn't said a word to him since they'd left the house and he kept having to look at her to assure himself she was still _there_ and _breathing_ and she hadn't somehow fallen into an open manhole along the way.

When she'd come back from Heaven, Buffy had been full of these sort of silences. Back then, it had meant she was lost in her thoughts, trying to sort out memories and relationships that she couldn't seem to handle in any normal, functioning state. Lately, it had meant that she was, well, she was still thinking, but it was in a more brood-like capacity than before.

Tonight, even Peaches would be outdone by the Slayer's brooding techniques.

He tried desperately to come up with something to talk about. Small talk, mindless chatter, weather forecasts, inaccurate, of course, since those ponces at the station couldn't predict a tornado if it was whipping them about like they were in The Wizard of freaking Oz…

She had stopped walking, and he was a good ten paces ahead of her. He hadn't sensed anything amiss, no demons hanging about, but he turned around and tensed himself for a fight. If he trusted anything, it was his Slayer's sense of danger and her ability to attract it.

__

His Slayer. Damn, would he ever be able to stop thinking of her that way? If she could hear his thoughts, she'd stake him, he figured. She didn't like to be considered a possession - that's part of the reason her and Angel had broken up. Treating her like a breakable china doll, all gentle touches and soothing words…not like the tough warrior she really is.

"Buffy?" He called to her, noticing her blank expression and becoming very anxious. Buffy was never blank. She was hard, ruthless, angry, sorrowful, pained, happy, thrilled, blissful, quiet, loud, raging…but never blank. "What is it, love?"

__

What is it? Only the most awkward conversation in the history of the universe that I'm trying to prepare myself for. Stupid vampire.

He walked quickly back to her, senses on high alert, and incredibly frightened for Buffy's well-being. Grabbing her by the shoulders he gave her a little shake, and she looked up at him, her eyes so full of fear and anguish that he felt as if he were being staked by thousands of splinters, tearing his heart into tiny pieces.

"Spike," she whispered. His name echoed in his ears, and he heard the breathy gasp she spoke it with over and over again in his mind. Her warm hands cupped his face, and she held him in her gaze.

"I need to tell you something." She wasn't sure why she was whispering, but it felt to her that this moment was so precious and private and _amazing_ and she only wanted it to exist between the two of them.

It wasn't that he couldn't hear her - he did have vampiric senses after all. But the way she was looking at him, and the way she gently warmed his skin with her own, was drawing him ever closer to her, head dipped towards hers, hands finding themselves on her waist. There was something happening between them, something blooming here on the sidewalk that he never thought he'd find, and he wanted it so desperately he could feel himself burning from the inside out and he was sure he'd be dust if she didn't get on with it.

"I'm here," he whispered back, mirroring her intensity. She was losing herself in the depths of his blue, blue eyes, the ones she hadn't even known were blue until that night she'd asked him to tell her how he killed the other slayers, and then she'd been surprised but _happy_ at the colour, and then she had been lost, but not in him, and then he found her and brought her back even though it hurt, hurt them both, and she'd screwed it up like she screwed up everything else with everyone she'd ever cared about and she knew, _knew_, that what she felt for him wasn't just friendship, and it wasn't hate anymore, if it ever had been, and she was standing with him now, so close, because she'd thought about it, all summer and at her desk and in the car and shopping for groceries, she'd thought about it between Miriam's and home, between home and here, and she was certain that she was right.

That what she felt was _right_.

"I want to start over."

A frown tugged one eyebrow down for a moment, and he cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"I want - us - to start over. I was wrong; I'm _always_ wrong, I did have feelings for you, I still do, and I realized that if you left again, if you _left_ me, for good, dead or of your own free will…"

"Never of my own free will," he interrupted.

"…I would die. Die inside. Because I - I do have feelings for you. Now. Then. I don't know what they are, but…I want to find out."

Well. He hadn't been expecting that.

"I know I screwed up -" her voice broke, and she had to close her eyes to focus and push back the tears. "I screwed up, and we hurt each other. Last year was bad. _Really_ bad. But I feel like something good came out of it. It opened my eyes." And she did open her eyes. He was staring at her with such love and devotion and disbelief and hope and desire.

"I want to try again. I want to make up for all the bad…stuff…that happened."

Spike had yet to say anything of consequence. Buffy was beginning to fear that he'd reject her, for lack of believing in her honesty, or fear of abuse, or…god, what if he didn't trust her? What if she'd wrecked it all beyond saving?

"Is it too late?" she asked, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "Don't tell me it's too late."

And still he said nothing. She could see the wheels turning in his head as he processed what she'd asked of him. But she needed an answer, dammit!

"Well, well. If it isn't the Slayer and her pet vampire, all close and cuddly!"

Spike's eyes slid from Buffy's and looked over her shoulder. She turned as well, and saw five vamps in V-formation ready to take them on.

Pulling herself from Spike's embrace, she pulled a stake from the sheath on her back and smiled grimly at them, aware of her dishevelled state but not caring a toss what they thought.

"Didn't your sires tell you not to piss me off?"

Their feral grins told that, no, their sires were as dumb as these guys looked.

"Well, they should've," she growled, before launching herself at the one that had spoken earlier.

Spike shook his head in disgust at the tossers that thought they could take on his Slayer and _win_. He hoped that he'd never been as over-confident as these morons, because really, the only vamp to beat Buffy had been the Master, and then she'd come back and kicked his ass. These guys had no hope in Hell.

Of course, what Spike didn't realize was that Buffy was in a delicate emotional state. Here she had bared her heart to him, and not only had he said nothing, but he wasn't standing up for her against these punch stupid whack vampires stake - poof!.

One of them grabbed her from behind in a choke hold, and another knocked her stake to the ground. Years ago, Spike would have jumped right in and killed her himself, relishing her wide, frightened eyes and tear-tracked face. Now, it enraged him.

In short quick movements, he had killed two of the remaining vampires and set out after the third, the one who'd held Buffy, and chased him down the sidewalk. He tore a branch off a tree as he passed it and threw, dusting the vamp from twenty feet away.

Buffy collapsed to her knees. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Emotions equal stress equals sloppiness. A relationship with Spike was probably a horrible idea, especially since he didn't seem to love her anymore, which he said he always _would_, but worrying about it was going to get her killed.

This had been the problem with Angel - did he love her, did she love him, was he going to go evil, how close was too close…on and on until it had left her a quivering puddle of doubt, and then he'd left her. Had it been her fault? His? Both?

She touched her tender neck where she was sure purple bruises were probably blossoming on her skin. A cool hand moved her shaking fingers from her injury to inspect it themselves, pressing gently, feeling for damage.

"Are you alright?" Spike asked.

She nodded and rose to her feet, ignoring his outstretched hand, and dusting herself off. He picked her stake up from where it had fallen and held it out to her. The haunted look on her face wasn't lost on him, and he waited patiently as she stepped close enough to take back her weapon.

Then he moved in and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close so that she could rest her head against his chest. One hand stroked soothing circles across her back, and the other tangled itself in her golden hair.

"Buffy." He moaned her name against her neck, breathing deep the scent that was purely her, vanilla and honey and something primal, and her heart soared in her chest. Moaning was good. Moaning meant there was something going on in him, something that maybe meant…

"Do you think we can?" he asked, lips moving against her soft flesh as he spoke, and his breath danced gently across her skin. Her eyes slid closed as she allowed her senses to be overloaded with the pure pleasure of having his lips on her body. She felt his tongue against her throat and she gasped, desire coursing through her veins and burning in her womb.

Buffy pressed closer to him, running her hands down his chest and scratching his stomach lightly through his t-shirt. His muscles quivered beneath her touch and, encouraged, she slid her arms around his waist and explored his back with her palms.

"I hope we can," she answered. His ministrations had finally meandered its way to her face and at her words, paused at the corner of her mouth. 

"Because this…" she tilted her face to look him in the eye, "deserves a chance."

They were still looking at each other when their lips met. The kiss deepened slowly, lazily, hands unhurriedly exploring terrain they already knew but were longing to rediscover. He didn't remember her tasting so sweet, and she couldn't recall him ever making her feel this way before with just a kiss.

It was a long time before the couple finally broke apart and headed for home, hand in hand.


	3. Happy

**For Disclaimer et al, please see Chapter 1**

Angel was brooding.

Not that this was new, because it wasn't, or that it was different, because it was generally the same. But it was something that Cordelia, _this_ Cordelia, had to learn to work around.

When Angel was brooding, you didn't bring up the topic of broodiness. When Angel was brooding, you did not ask too many questions. When Angel was brooding, you did not interrupt him. You did not suggest he get out. You did not offer him blood.

And you definitely, _definitely_, didn't try to implement your Grand Evil Plan.

Which sucked. Immensely.

So instead, Not!Cordelia glared at Angel's closed office door. She contemplated her next move. Having decided that telling Angel the things he'd done in his past were unforgivable had been a _big mistake_, she was trying to come up with ways to correct this.

After all, she had been going for 'throw him off his game' not 'send him sulking into a locked room'. It was a slight miscalculation. One for which she was paying dearly for.

"So then this Uzokk demon came out of the restroom, and I still couldn't tell if it was for guys or gals, because the species is asexual and have no gender!"

Lorne was trying to lighten the mood by telling anecdotes of his experiences in show biz. Not!Cordelia was not impressed in the slightest, but had to pretend to be. She forced a foreign smile, a little like a grimace and a lot like constipation.

Fred and Lorne glanced at each other. Something was still wrong with Cordy. She'd come out of her room the day before, explained that she was just a little traumatised and that once she had worked out the horrors she'd seen, she was fine. But it was clear that their usually perky friend was not of the fine.

"Hey Cordy," Fred offered, trying to draw out a glimpse of the old, less grumpy Cordelia, "you wanna go shopping? I saw these shoes you'd just die for!"

_Ugh, I hate shopping…_ Cordelia thought.

"Ugh, you know I hate shopping!" Not!Cordelia whined, taking her cue from the person trapped inside their shared body.

The expressions of horror and deep concern that spread across Fred and Lorne's faces told Not!Cordelia that she had been duped. For that, the girl would pay.

Inside, Cordelia felt like she was burning as the demon that had invaded her body turned its anger on her. Intense pain coursed through her being and she screamed, though no one but the body snatcher could hear her.

'That's what you get for trying to trick me, foolish human,' it whispered maliciously.

_Fuck you…_ Cordelia ground out. But the invader only laughed at her. _You know, I'd really like to put a name to that evil laugh._

There was silence for a moment, and Cordelia waited as the other being existing within her body worked at translating its existence into words. It was chaos. It was hatred. It was…death.

'That's right,' it said, with what Cordy could only describe as glee, 'you know my name. The half-breeds call me Master; the true demons call me Father; and humans? They call me many names. But I prefer…Nosferatu.'

Well, that was unexpected.

****

The smell of pancakes woke Spike up from an otherwise peaceful sleep. He stretched out his aching limbs and noticed that his wrists weren't chained to the wall. Spike frowned as he sat up in the cot and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to remember what had happened last night that Buffy had forgotten to shackle him…

__

She said she wanted to give us a chance.

Spike fell off the small bed as he realized with a shock that Buffy had fallen asleep with him that night, wrapped securely in his arms. She hadn't shackled him because she'd never even thought about it.

__

My dream…my nightmare. That can't happen again. No. I'll wake up and she'll be dead and it'll be all my fault…

The image of her lying cold and lifeless beside him, pieces of her scalp torn from her head in his First-induced frenzy, flashed before his eyes. _I can't let that happen_.

Slowly he climbed up the basement steps, every movement drawing him closer and closer to his beloved Buffy.

****

Buffy felt wonderful. Like a weight had been taken off her shoulders, she practically danced across the kitchen, scooping pancakes onto plates that were then quickly snatched up and stuffed into the mouths of her waiting housemates.

The orange juice was fresh squeezed, the room was illuminated with light shining through the new semi-translucent curtains (so Spike can come upstairs during the day), and she had slept better than she had in months.

Finally, her life was starting to fall into place.

She smiled broadly when Dawn flitted into the kitchen, sneaking a pancake off the table, pouring syrup onto it and then rolling the pancake like a burrito and stuffing it in her mouth.

"Hungry this morning?" she asked her sister as she waltzed past and kissed her forehead.

Dawn scrunched her face up and stared at her sister, watching as she happily began running water in the sink and drizzling dishwashing liquid into it.

"Whaf uh wiffooo rooray?" she asked.

"Huh?" Buffy said.

Dawn swallowed. "I said: What's up with you today? You're super happy. Not that it's a bad thing, but it is…unusual."

A tired-looking Willow squeezed past Andrew and Amanda, both of which were arguing over Dungeons & Dragons battle strategies. Slipping into the stool next to Dawn, she contemplated her best friend as well.

"Um, maybe I missed something, but when did we get a new Buffybot?"

Buffy gave Willow her most Slayer-y glare while Dawn snickered behind her hand.

"Can't I be in a good mood?" Buffy demanded. Dawn smiled wickedly at her while Willow's face reflected deep concern.

Buffy sighed. "Okay, so I haven't exactly been Happy Buffy lately, but I'm feeling great this morning. Do you mind if I enjoy it?"

"It's definitely good to see Happy Buffy again, and can she make an appearance more often? Cuz Grumpy Buffy and Slayer Buffy aren't healthy," Willow replied.

Buffy smiled in response and began washing the dishes. Dawn slid her plate and fork into the soapy water before running upstairs to get ready for school. Willow rose from the island and took up a towel.

"Can I ask what's put you in such a good mood?"

Buffy placed a plate in the witch's hands before answering. "Earlier this week Jade had one of those visions she was telling us about. She says she saw me and Spike, in the - in the bathroom."

Willow nodded that she understood and to keep going.

"We talked about it a bit, and I realized that I have feelings for Spike." She glanced at her friend. "I told him I want to try again."

The plate nearly slipped from Willow's grip as Buffy said this, her eyes widening to comic proportions, but she kept her mouth shut.

"I know it seems a little crazy," Buffy admitted, turning to face Willow, "but I feel like this is what I was supposed to do all along. I mean, look at me! I'm so happy this morning - I haven't felt like this since before Mom died. I feel like I found a part of me that was missing…that I'd lost a long time ago and didn't even know I needed."

Willow understood. She really did. It didn't take much to remind her of the devastation she'd felt after Tara's death. In fact, she really wasn't over it yet. But she was moving on, trying new things, and it was helping. So she could understand Buffy's need for companionship, but - why Spike?

"Well, i-it does seem…sudden, but, if that's what makes you happy -"

"It really is, Will," Buffy interrupted.

"- then I'm happy for you."

Buffy squealed in delight and threw her arms around Willow's neck, her soapy hands clinging to her best friend's pyjama top. Willow slowly put her arms around Buffy, eventually leaning into a hug she had craved for months.

'Maybe we can start over too,' she thought to herself. When Buffy finally pulled away she had a huge grin on her face that spread like wildfire to her own. The two women were still smiling at each other when Spike opened the basement door.

Willow noticed how Buffy's eyes grew brighter and her skin flushed slightly at the appearance of the vampire. If anything was going to prove to her that Buffy was making the right decision, there it was.

"I'll, uh, be upstairs if you need me. Helping Dawn get ready. Um, for school. Which you need to get ready for too. So I'll go. Now." Willow finished her ramble by giving Spike a little wave 'hello' and darting out of the room.

"Hey," Buffy greeted.

"Hey," Spike replied. He picked up Willow's dropped towel and began where she had left off. Buffy smiled radiantly up at him and he momentarily forgot why he had come upstairs in the first place.

"Buffy," he began, and she looked at him expectantly, open eagerness in her expression.

Taking a deep breath, he began what would most likely be the most difficult conversation of his unlife. "We need to talk."

"'Bout what?" she asked, handing him dishes as she cleaned them.

"About last night," he ventured and visibly flinched when she glanced sharply at him.

"What about last night?" she asked softly, the fear in her voice undisguised and painful to his ears.

"What happened last night…it can't happen again."

In her shock, the glass she was washing slipped from her hands and broke against the side of the sink. The shards disappeared beneath the frothy bubbles, and she turned slowly towards him.

"Why not," Buffy demanded, a hard edge to her tone as she fought back the urge to punch him. It made no sense for him to be breaking up with her! He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, and he'd always been the one chasing after her stylish yet affordable skirts and worshipping the ground her almost-Guccis walked on.

Who the hell did he think he was trying to put boundaries on their relationship!?

"Because you didn't chain me up, that's why!" he practically shouted back.

"What, you wanted kinky sex last night? Well, sorry, but when I said 'start over' I meant from the beginning."

Even though Spike could see the raw pain in her eyes, his own flashed yellow as her anger riled his demon and threatened to come to the fore. 

Why can't this woman ever have a civil conversation?!

"That's not what I meant and you know it! I'm talking about the fact that the other night I dreamt that I'd killed you in my sleep, and I can't let that happen. We can't be close like that until the First is out of my head, and that means that I need to be kept under lock and key, _especially_ when you're not around to stop me if I'm not in control."

"I _was_ there," she replied, her anger already dissipating. "I wouldn't have let you hurt me."

"While you were sleeping? Good luck with that. Let me know how that works for you. Oh, wait. You'll be dead!"

"Is that what this is about? You think I can't trust you?"

Spike tossed the slightly damp towel on the counter and ran both hands through his hair. "Have you not listened to a bloody word I've ever said? You can trust me. I love you, I would never hurt you."

He paused. "It's not me you have to worry about though, is it?"

Her lips pursed adorably as she mulled over what he'd said.

"So, you're not breaking up with me?"

Mouth dropping open, eyes staring disbelievingly at her, his expression could only be described as 'gawking'. "What the hell gave you that idea, love?"

"Hm, let's see. Try: 'Last night can't happen again'?"

"Which I swiftly followed up with 'Until the First is out of my head'. And - hey, wait a minute." He cocked his head to the side. "So, there's really an 'us' to break up?"

Buffy smiled shyly at him. "I thought that was kind of assumed."

"Are we…dating? A couple? What do you want to call this."

She shrugged and began running her thumbnail along the edge of the formica countertop. "I dunno. But we have to call it something soon because I just told Willow."

"That's why Red was acting all weird." He stepped towards her, close enough so that she could smell him, cigarettes, a little bit of her, and that musky smell that was only him. "You gonna tell the others?"

She turned the tables on him, using his own mode of distraction to make him the one to swoon. Leaning in towards him she ran her hands up his arms and locked her wrists around his neck. Pressing her body against his she felt him tense and watched with feminine satisfaction as his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared, the first sure signs of his arousal.

"I don't want to tell them just yet. We're still kinda new and I think if we just told, say, Willow and Dawn, that would be enough for now."

"Yeah," he muttered huskily, drawing her a little closer to him. Abruptly she pulled away from his embrace and smiled coquettishly at him when he glared at her.

"Do you like the new curtains? I put them up this morning." He glanced at them before reaching into the sink to gather the broken glass that lay hidden on the bottom.

"You just did that so that I'll start making breakfast," he teased gently.

"You? Cook? I'd rather not experience that, thank you very much."

"Hey, I can cook! You don't live for over a hundred years and not pick up a thing or two," he retorted. She opened the garbage can for him so he could dump the glass in it.

"But you don't need to eat food," she rationalized.

"She's right you know," Dawn added as she made her way into the kitchen. "You'll have to explain that whole 'digesting human food' thing to us some day."

The blondes glanced at each other sheepishly before stepping a little further apart. The action wasn't lost on the youngest Summers.

"Are you two a thing?" she demanded.

"Uh…" Spike began, but Buffy stayed him with a hand on his arm.

"Yes, Dawnie. Spike and I are a 'thing'."

"Cool," the teen replied. "We've got to go to school now, Buffy. I'll let you guys say goodbye." With a wink, she headed out the front door.

Buffy turned to Spike. "I guess I need to lock you up, huh?"

"Just remember," he said, taking one of her hands in his own, "you're doing this for me too."

He lead her by the hand down the basement steps until she paused halfway down.

"Boyfriend," she said.

"What?"

"I want to call you my boyfriend," she replied.

Buffy leaned towards him and captured his lips with her own. Pressing a gentle hand to the small of her back he pulled her closer. They kissed lazily on the steps for a moment until an impatient horn sounded and they pulled away.

"Dawn's waitin'" he whispered.

"Yeah," she replied. "I guess I'd better hurry up and lock my boyfriend in the basement."


	4. Rumours

**For Disclaimer et al, please see Chapter 1**

The rumours started before the first bell had even rung. It was a gang hit - a gang on PCP. Or maybe it was suicide, or drug-induced self-mutilation gone awry. It was rabid dogs, mutated chipmunks, and a travelling band of disgruntled circus performers.

But none of the rumours came close to the truth surrounding Shawn's death. So the students of Sunnydale High whispered amongst each other, stared at the uniformed cops who stood disinterestedly by, and crossed to the far side of the hallway as they passed the crimson stain on the floor and the yellow police tape illuminating it.

Dawn waited around the corner for Jade, shooting apprehensive looks over her shoulder at the carnage of the night before. _The night before._ It was hard for her to believe that 12 hours ago she was blissfully unaware of so many things. Like how it felt to kill someone. And how blood has a way of sticking to your skin long after its washed away.

Principal Wood had delegated Buffy to arrange an emergency assembly to 'help the student body deal with the murder of their classmate'. So, Dawn had been ditched just inside the school doors, and now she was waiting for what seemed to be her only friend in the entire world.

Jade passed a cursory glance over the blood and gathering crowd before pushing through it all, heedless of the stares she attracted. When she finally emerged on the other side of the hall, she spotted Dawn immediately, who greeted her with a relieved smile.

"Thought you'd never get here," Dawn whispered as she fell into step with the other girl. Jade glared back at the rubbernecks while dramatically readjusting her cloth bag over her shoulder.

She replied with a rakish grin, "Tough crowd."

------

"…let's bow our heads in remembrance."

Watching the entire population of Sunnydale High mimic the principal caused Jade to roll her eyes. They were performing a mock prayer, calling it something else to sanctify it in a taboo-minded world, and none of these idiots had any idea why.

I remember how he chewed the yellow enamel off his pencil. I remember how he called me a guard dog. I remember Dawn telling me she used to crush on him. I remember the dead look in his eyes when he slumped through the doorway.

Unconsciously, Jade had begun to pull at the loose strings of her long-sleeved turtleneck (black, of course), fraying them even worse than they had been to begin with. They slid tightly over her hands, stopping just before the fingertips, and she'd worn holes in them to stick her thumbs through.

A girl a few rows ahead noticed that Jade wasn't 'remembering' Shawn. _Probably one of his little girlfriends._ She none too subtly gave the bitch the finger.

Principal Wood called their attention, and at the corner of her eye, Jade saw something move. By the time she looked, it was already gone, and though everyone's eyes faced forward, not on her or the mystery speck, she was sure that something had been there and had been watching and was still watching from somewhere past the rows and rows of heads.

"Buffy, I've got a meeting with Shawn's parents now. Do you think you could leave your finished paperwork on my desk? I'll swing by and pick it up on my way home."

She nodded in acquiescence as Robin shrugged his jacket on and left the building. Buffy was already planning to search his office, and hopefully find a clue to the 'shovel incident', when she noticed the ginormous stack of papers in her Inbox. With a whimper, she called home and told them she'd be late for dinner.

------

"I'm sorry Dawn, but I just can't leave right now. You'll have to walk home."

"What?" Dawn whined. "But, demons! A-and The First!"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You can handle yourself in a fight - I saw you do it. And I know you can scream with the best of them. You'll be fine."

"This coming from a girl who's died twice?" Dawn retorted sarcastically. "Fine, send your loving, baby sister into the mouth of Hell - see if I care!" And with a harrumph she was sweeping majestically out the door. Her sister had become so much like her it was unnerving. Buffy smiled proudly.

------

"Wanna come over?"

A chill wind had picked up throughout the day, and Jade wrapped her arms tight beneath her breasts. "Sure that'll be okay with Buffy?"

Dawn shrugged. "Why not? Her friends are over all the time." Jade gave her a wry smile.

"Yeah, but I think I freak the others out."

Wiping back her errant hair, Dawn chanced a glance at her friend's disturbed expression. It would probably never be a good time to ask about her troubled past, so since they were kind of on the topic…

"So, last night, with the meeting. It was all closed doors, but," she gave Jade a lopsided smile, "maybe you want to talk about it?"

Jade didn't answer, and as they continued walking in silence, Dawn was afraid that she had overstepped the boundary of their brand new trust. Her companion's eyes were trained on the sky, her posture closed and defensive. Raven black hair flew into Jade's face, and with a sharp toss of her head, was banished away.

"I'm sorry. If it's hard for you to talk about -"

"My grandmother knew things, _saw_ things, that nobody else was aware of. The day she died, she told me it would be a momentous day." She bowed her head slightly, as if in prayer. "Though who it was most momentous for, I'm still not sure."

Jade reached under her high collar and pulled out the cross she had used to fend off the vampire the night before. "This was Grandmama's. She gave it to me when I had my first impression. Once I inherited the Sight, she knew I was ready to hear the prophecy. She had Seen me fighting vampires - she knew I would be the one to fulfill the family legacy."

"Family legacy?"

"A curse, really." Jade fingered the small jewels, topaz and ruby and others she couldn't name, and scraped the palm of her hand across the thorns of raised silver. "The power of Foresight flows in our veins…centuries ago my great-ancestors saw the battle between the First and the Slayer. They saw our family there. They then made the prophecy so that each generation would have a purpose, a legacy, and would keep the Sight alive."

She dropped the cross, letting it settle against her chest. "I'm here to meet my destiny. I've tried running, I've tried hiding; nothing works. By moving here I thought I was escaping my prophesied death, but I ended up travelling straight towards it."

Her face tilted up to the sky where large drops of rain were beginning to fall from obese clouds.

"_Tomorrow, tomorrow  
Infinite we See  
The End.  
Upon a bed of  
Unlocked doors  
A shallow grave.  
When the Warrior rises  
The Prophet shall come,  
Our child,  
Our future,  
Holding the hand  
Of the unwinged Angel.  
Unsung heroes, demonic  
Soul earned, another  
Cast by spell.  
The Son and the Father,  
Opposite,  
Fight for their love,  
Of the Body  
And the Key.  
Spun in a web  
Of tarnished gold,  
Together they shall  
Lead the Light  
Against the Dark  
And the source  
Of all Evil.  
We See the End,  
Of Us, of All,  
Of tomorrow  
And the day after.  
We See the fall  
Of the Prophet  
And the rise of  
The Dark.  
We See to the End,  
And in the end,  
A Beginning."_

Silence once again filled the spaces in-between. Jade was melancholy with both grief and fear, her arms tight around herself to fend off the chill of the rain and the ice in her heart. Dawn was turning the words over and over in her mind, her skill with languages tugging at it and breaking it down.

"It doesn't say you die," Dawn offered. Jade glanced sidelong at her from beneath a curtain of hair. "It says the Prophet falls, but…that could mean anything. It could be literal, or maybe you lose the Sight, or -"

"It's okay, Dawn. Really." She offered her friend a weak smile. "Zeke and I have been through this. He refuses to accept that I might very well die before my eighteenth birthday. And as much as I'd like to be not dead, it's been Seen. A long, long time ago." Jade shrugged.

"Death doesn't scare me. It's the transition that frightens me most. If only I knew the time and place…at least then I could prepare for it. Say my goodbyes." She paused. "I guess that's why I'm such a problem child - I'm living my life the way I want to because I know I don't have much time."

"Stop saying that!" Dawn hissed. The pain and fear in her eyes was not only for Jade, she could see that. Death was something that the youngest Summers has been too close to for too long.

"Okay," Jade agreed, "let's just not talk about it."

------

When Connor stepped into the Hyperion's lobby, Fred rushed over to him and pulled him aside.

"Cordelia's still acting really weird. She won't go shopping, she won't talk about shoes, or - or even how broody Angel is! I think there's something seriously, seriously wrong. We need to intervene!"

"Yes," Lorne agreed, joining their circle. "She needs an intervention. In a bad, bad way. I mean, look at her clothes!" They turned and viewed Cordelia's outfit - fringed black toga-like dress, a blood red choker, and killer heels that she'd bought especially for the ballet. "Either she's decided to try out for _What Not to Wear_, or she's even more traumatized than we thought."

"I'll talk to her," Connor offered, moving towards the girl in question. But Fred grabbed his arm.

"Talking hasn't done any good so far, but…well, what Lorne and I were thinking was, I mean, if you want to, because you don't have to if you don't want to -"

"What our pretty little Texan here is trying to say is, we think it might help Cordelia if you spent some quality time with her. We all know how much she loves you, and with Angelcakes all locked up in his office, well…you're the next closest person to her."

Connor glanced back at Cordelia, who caught his eye. She gave him a warm smile, and something inside his cold heart melted slightly at her affection.

"Yeah, okay. I'll do it."

Not!Cordelia could hear every word the three idiots were saying. And they were playing Connor into the palm of her hand.

_Insert evil laugh here…_ Cordelia muttered to herself.

'Shut up, worthless human. I chose you for your proximity to the boy, not for any other reason.'

A wave of panic crashed through Cordelia. _What do you mean?_

Nosferatu laughed, a sinister sound that echoed through her skull like pounding hooves. 'You think I have plans for _you_? You, Miss Chase, are quite inconsequential in and of yourself. But your relationship to the boy…that's something I could never hope to recreate with any other being.'

_Leave him alone! Connor's innocent, he doesn't know how this world works -_

'That's what makes him so perfect. He has supernatural strength, a position to know the inner workings of the forces of Light, and an implicit trust in a puny human that will be his downfall.'

Connor sat next to Cordelia, smiling shyly up at her from beneath his mop of brown hair. So young, so innocent…he reminded her so much of Angel, with his soulful eyes and intense gaze. This boy, whom she had bathed, rocked to sleep, held close to her heart, and helped her realize that she could indeed love again, was the prey of an evil entity, wearing her face as its mask, and she was powerless to save him. Again.

'Watch as I turn Angel's precious son, the boy you see as your own, into my exclusive killing machine.'

_God, no._

"Do you want to hang out or something?" Connor asked.

A grin spread across Cordelia's face. "I'd love to, sweetie. Why don't we go for a walk?"

------

"Finally!" Buffy cried as she signed the last student evaluation form. She leaned back in her chair and tilted her face to the ceiling. A plate of steak and potatoes was awaiting her when she got home, prepared by Anya, set aside by Willow, and wrapped carefully by Dawn.

As her gaze fell upon her desk, she smiled at a picture someone had taken at one of the Scooby meetings, one of the few she had ever framed, and the only one in existence that all of her friends were in.

They were gathered around her dining room table, books spread out before them, donut crumbs sprinkled over everything. Anya was sitting on Xander's lap, arms tightly wound around his neck while he tried to stuff a jam buster in his mouth. Dawn was asleep against Spike's shoulder, but he was mostly oblivious as he argued with herself over something. His gaze was so intense…but then again, so was hers. _Does it go that far back?_ Buffy asked herself.

Giles and Willow sat next to each other, he with his face pressed close to a musty tome, she grinning goofily at the cameraperson. Ah, that's who it must be. Tara.

Buffy lifted the frame gently, bringing it close to her face to inspect it. There, reflected off her mother's glass curio doors, was Tara. Long blond hair hanging limp, camera obscuring her face, but it was her.

Fighting back the surge of tears that came unbidden to her eyes, she replaced the picture and gathered her stack of paperwork in her arms. To take her mind off the painful memories of Tara's death and the violent aftermath, the ache in her heart that always accompanied the memory of her mother and how she no longer existed when that picture was taken, and the thought that in a few months from that near-perfect moment her world came crumbling down around her, she ran through Operation: Robin Wood.

Dumping her mile-high pile of papers on the principal's desk, she looked carefully around the room for anything that seemed suspicious. Finding nothing, she then moved around behind the desk and tugged on the drawers. Paperclips, scotch tape, a bunch of pens and pencils…

"Poop," Buffy muttered to herself. With a frown, she closed all the drawers and sank into the principal's revolving leather chair.

"If I were an evil principal," she rationalized in a sing-song voice, "where would I hide my implements of mass destruction?" She Buffy twirled around and around on the chair, admiring the cherry oak desk, the curtained windows, the electric pencil sharpener, the curious paperweight…

It looked like an axe. An axe stuck in a big honking rock. Frowning, Buffy poked at it, inadvertently pressing down on the axe handle, which threw a switch inside the contraption. There was an ominous whirring, punctuated by a few clicks and clanks, and suddenly a panel was opening in the wall behind her.

She swung the chair around and watched in awe as a fiery red light shone upon her from within the sliding doors of the secret cabinet, illuminating the arsenal of weapons inside with a blood-like glow. _What the hell does he need all this for?_ she asked herself.

Fingering an elegant dagger, the sneaking suspicion that she was meant to find something here at the school grew into a giant know in her stomach. Robin was up to something - what, she had no idea. But when she discovered what it was, she would put a stop to it.

------

After returning Robin's office to the way she had found it, Buffy walked through the parking lot to her car. Her mind was mulling over all the possibilities in her head, of the principal being evil, or good, or a demon…until she was attacked, that is.

Four Bringers, each armed with a flaming sword. "Geez, don't you guys ever give up?" she demanded. With a single roundhouse she knocked one enemy into another, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Flames licked her cheek as she side-stepped an attack, but she grabbed the Bringer's arm and with one solid twist it was broken.

The sword fell to the ground and she scooped it up, plunging it into the chest of the demon who had wielded it. As the two she had knocked down were struggling to their feet, the fourth tried to run her through. But she parried, thrust, and decapitated him.

Only two were left now, and she made short work of them, spinning and punching and slicing, not playing with them like she did the vampires she found on patrol. Given the chance, she knew the Bringers were skilled enough to kill her, especially with weapons as formidable as theirs.

But Buffy was fast, strong, and smart. So the demons barely had a chance to register her attack before they were lying in smouldering heaps on the ground. The Slayer stared out into the dark, daring any others nearby to attack. None did.

She shook the flaming sword in her hands. "Now how do I turn this damn thing off?" she asked herself, as every movement she made with it sparked blazing eruptions along its surface.

"It's powered by your own energy." Buffy whipped around, to find herself face to face with - herself.

"The First." It smiled her smile, laughed her laugh. The Slayer raised the sword between them.

"You know that can't hurt me," It scolded. Buffy looked at the sword and back at the bodiless demon.

"And that means _you_ can't hurt _me_," she replied.

The First looked contemplative. "True. But I have a bit of inside knowledge on something that _will _hurt you. Or, rather, hurt someone you care about."

The image of Buffy blurred and dissolved, only to reform again in a more blonde, more leathery persona. "You leave him alone," she hissed, panic sweeping through her.

The fire on the blade winked out, and she strode angrily to her car. The First followed close behind, Spike's boots making the distinctive clomping she was so familiar with. She forced her eyes closed as she remembered the injuries he'd received while in the clutches of this being.

"It won't be me," It replied. Buffy tossed the sword into the passenger seat before climbing in and revving the engine. "No love, its someone with a little more, _initiative_."

Buffy paused, foot on the gas. "Riley?" she asked, in a smaller voice than she had expected. Not!Spike leaned in through the open window.

"The chip inside Spike's head was not meant for permanent use. It was an experiment. A trial." The First changed images again, quivering for a moment before solidifying as Maggie Walsh. "It's metal and plastic inside his brain. How long do you expect it should last - a year? Maybe two?"

It stepped away. "And how long has it been for your lover boy?"

"Three," she whispered. "Three years."

One final transformation, back into the Slayer. "Doesn't that concern you even the teeniest bit?"

Buffy threw the car into reverse and sped towards Revello Drive, her heart in her throat as her fear of losing Spike came once again to the fore of her mind. Behind her, the First stood grinning, a cold, malicious smile that seemed to chill the air around it. And in the shadows of the school, a figure moved, his dark skin swallowed by the equally dark night.

------

"Spike?" she called as she stepped in the door. Dawn and Jade glanced up from their homework. "Have you guys seen Spike?"

"You locked him in the basement, remember?" her sister replied.

Buffy headed into the kitchen and down the stairs, where she found the vampire chained to the wall, a copy of Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet' in his hands. He looked up at her and smiled shyly.

"Evenin', love." Her step faltered, and she paused just out of his reach.

"Nothing…strange…happened today?" she asked. Spike could read the anxiety and fear in her face and body.

He cocked his head. "No, why?"

She searched his eyes, for what, he didn't know, and neither did she. But she seemed satisfied, because she closed the gap between them and pressed a demanding kiss on his lips. His cold hands gripped her waist and pulled her as close as they could manage with him still shackled to the wall.

When she noticed the jangling, Buffy sighed and disentangled herself from him. This made Spike pout and she laughed, her dire mood already lifting as she saw that he wasn't dead, or sick, or anything other than just himself.

Unchaining him, she noticed the adoring, trusting look he gave her, and her heart flipped. Suddenly she realized that if anything happened to him she would be absolutely devastated. Making herself a promise to never let anything come between them, she climbed into his lap and pressed herself against him, showing him with her lips exactly how serious that promise was.


	5. Out of the Woods

When Giles stepped out of the chartered plane, the first thing he noticed was the scorching, all-consuming heat. Made the Hellmouth seem like a winter retreat. Mosquitoes swarmed around his head and he brushed them away with a put-upon sigh.

The plane ride had been atrocious - the peanuts were stale, the quarters were cramped, and the sun had shone aggressively through the un-shuttered window the entire 6 hours from Heathrow to this godforsaken hole somewhere in the wilds of Romania. Giles was starting to think that the direct flight to Bucharest would have been the better choice rather than taking the chartered flight to this dreary little town at the base of the Transylvanian Alps.

Giles left the airstrip, bag over his shoulder, glad that he had chosen to wear loose-fitting khakis and a button-down polyester shirt rather than his standard cotton or tweed. He could feel sweat beginning to trickle between his shoulder blades and was anxious to find his guide who would take him to the secluded brotherhood at Torpes Peak.

A lone man stood leaning against the flight office, floppy Indiana Jones-type hat blocking the glare of the sun, oversized dusty shorts and wife-beater rounding out the ensemble. Though Giles couldn't see the man's face well as it was hidden in shadows, the easy posture and lean body indicated that the man was young, probably late twenties. The stranger held a cardboard sign in hand that read only: "Giles". So the ex-Watcher stepped up to him and thrust his hand out in greeting.

"I take it you're the man Frederick sent?" he asked.

The man nodded, but ignored Giles' offer of greeting. Awkwardly, Giles dropped his arm and gripped his bag in both hands. With a bored glance at the plane, the man turned and headed down the village's main road. Actually, it was the only road, but Giles was trying not to think of that.

As they continued on and the man still offered no conversation, Giles found himself quickly becoming frustrated with the silence. This was a life-or-death situation, one that depended upon perfect execution. Not only was Spike's freedom and sanity on the line, but the lives of countless young women who would be looking to Buffy for protection - protection which she couldn't give while worrying about their vampire friend.

And when did I start thinking of Spike as our friend? Giles asked himself. Instead of contemplating the thought further, he turned his inquisition and residual frustration toward his mute companion.

"Since you obviously know my name, I think it's only fair that I know yours," he suggested, but his tone of voice revealed enough of the Ripper in him for the statement to be considered a demand.

He saw the man's mouth quirk up in amusement. "Name's Ryker," he replied, then tipped his hat in a friendly gesture.

Giles waited for more, but the man offered nothing else. With a sigh he shifted his bag securely across his shoulders and followed Ryker up a beaten path and into the rugged mountains.

* * *

"Can we rest a moment?" Giles pleaded as he fell farther and farther behind Ryker. He was discovering just how old he had gotten while living in England - it seemed there truly was no better exercise than saving the world from evil.

Ryker glanced back at the lagging Brit and lowered himself easily to sit on a felled tree. Giles sighed in relief and climbed the last few metres to join the younger man. He poured a healthy amount of water down his aching throat and took these few moments of respite to take a closer look at his quiet guide.

There was an earthy quality to Ryker, a sort of animal magnetism. His eyes seemed almost yellow in the glare of the setting sun, which reminded Giles of a vampire's demonic amber ones. There was also a sharpness to him that made it clear he was not a man one wanted to cross.

But there was something else that Giles couldn't quite put a finger on…

"So tell me, Ryker," Giles began carefully, "how did you and Frederick meet?"

The younger man squinted out into the forest, between the trees, among the moss, skilfully avoiding the question. But Giles waited patiently, sipping his water, tightening his body like a coiled viper, ready to strike at the first sign of deception.

Ryker finally turned to Giles and looked closely at him, as if to pull trust from somewhere deep inside.

"I've never met Frederick," Ryker admitted. "I was sent on behalf of someone else. Someone we'll meet at the top of the mountain."

Giles removed his glasses and wiped them furiously. "Frederick assured me that the utmost secrecy would be upheld -"

"Don't worry, Daniel is a righteous man. He's told no one who didn't need to be told." Ryker glanced at the sky. "We'd best be moving. The woods aren't safe after dark."

* * *

When they finally arrived at the brotherhood, it was nothing like Giles had expected. Children ran between his legs as they chased after loose chickens. Women chatted together, wove baskets, baked bread. A group of men were practicing Tai Chi and Jujitsu atop a small hill.

The monks passed among the people in relative silence, nodding their greetings and bowing in acceptance of well-wishes. Their robes touched the ground, demurely obscuring their feet, and they walked in formation, separated by colours if not by rank.

Ryker led Giles through the crowd, touching cheeks and hands, an action the symbolism of which was not lost on Giles. It was clear that Ryker was the leader of these people, spiritually or otherwise, and though it did not earn his trust, it did deserve a degree of respect.

"Daniel is in meditation today - otherwise he would have come with me to meet you." Ryker gestured towards an open gazebo. There sat a red-haired man, facing away, towards the mountains, candles set about him in a circle of purity. As they watched, the young man stood and turned to face them.

"Oz?"

* * *

"Well, that is a very…colourful tale," Giles remarked over tea with Daniel 'Oz' Osbourne later that afternoon, after the young werewolf had given him a tour of the monastery and filled him in on the last few years of his life since leaving Sunnydale. "Meeting Frederick in Prague, travelling here with him where he introduced you to the brethren, this secluded werewolf community; quite extraordinary!"

"Yeah," the quiet man replied, and glanced past Giles. A horde of children ran screaming past, one little girl clearly the focus of Oz's attention.

She was adorable, Giles would readily admit, with her unbrushed red hair in messy pigtails and oversized clothes dragging dirtily on the ground. Swiping her sleeve beneath her runny nose, she gave Oz a grin before darting off to chase the others.

"I take it she's yours," Giles remarked. Oz turned and shook his head.

"She's Lowena's," he replied with a nod in said woman's direction. Standing just a few feet from them and in a heated argument with Ryker, was Lowena. Tall, blonde, beautiful, she looked nothing like the child save for the button nose and deep blue eyes, which right now were spitting fire at the other man.

"The child does have a father," Giles pressed on, and Oz glanced between Lowena and Ryker.

"Ryker's her husband."

The Brit sipped at his tea again and glanced at the couple. Ryker looked nothing like the child, and he assumed that, even though the child's father clearly was not Ryker, that local custom and the couple's marital status automatically made her his daughter.

"He's her mate as well?" he asked, knowing that, for werewolves, the partners they chose in human form were not always the partners their wolf-forms sought.

But the young man didn't answer him, instead turning in his seat to continue watching the children play.

"I won't pretend to understand the full extent of the hierarchy or patriarchy or whatever it is that has chosen Ryker as the alpha male," he admitted, "but that child -"

"Giles, it doesn't matter if she's mine or not," Oz interrupted. "I love her regardless."

The two men finished the pot of tea before standing to join the monks in their evening meditations.

"You're a good man, Daniel," Giles said, using his given name, and placing a fatherly hand on the younger man's shoulder. "And I'm sure that, given the chance, you'd make a wonderful father."

* * *

"Spike's good now? Like, actually _good_?"

Giles gave a little laugh and cleaned his glasses. "As hard as that is to believe, he has earned a place on the side of light. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Well," Giles admitted, replacing his glasses, "I still have some…reservations about having a vampire in Buffy's house." Oz raised his eyebrows in question. "Oh, it's not what you think, well, I don't think it is, you think…? No. Of course it's not."

"A vamp living in Buffy's house…and it's not what I think?"

"We lock him in the basement."

"Like that would stop her."

Giles was about to defend his Slayer's past, current, and future vampiric indiscretions when something painted on the wall caught his attention. He stepped forward, squinting to make out the drawings and the scrawled lettering.

"Is this - is this a prophecy?"

Oz stepped up next to him and gave the wall a once-over. "Ryker said it's something about a boy who the monks took in about ten years ago. They had a communal vision during one of their meditations, which they immortalized here." Oz brushed his fingers over the wall, where small robed figures were etched, stars below their feet and a scene above their heads. A boy, a girl, and a duck. The future depicted was bloody, fiery, and the woman carrying the flaming broadsword was clearly the Slayer, and the two demons who flanked here were obviously Spike and Angel.

"Dear lord," Giles muttered. "This is, this is -" He couldn't read the writing, composed in Romanian which he was completely inept at translating, but the pictures spoke to him instead.

"The kid's name, it was…Gabriel? Michael? Some biblical name."

"Ezekiel," Giles whispered, "his name's Ezekiel. But he said to call him Zeke."

"You know him?" Oz asked, any surprise he may have felt disguised by his easy-going nature.

"The night before I left, he arrived and aided Buffy in saving the lives of Dawn, a Potential Slayer, and the girl Zeke has sworn himself to protect."

Oz gestured at the wall again. "That girl?" Giles looked at the picture of the boy, the girl and the duck again.

"There's always more to these damn prophecies than meets the eye," he remarked to himself. "And this? What is this?" Giles fingered the strange shape above the boy's head.

"That's a halo. The monks call him the 'unwinged angel'."

Giles blanched. "Dear Lord," he repeated, and began digging through his bag for the prophecy.


	6. Returning

For hours he had pored over the prophecy, translated the monks' vision, snapped images of the mural with Willow's digital camera. He was no closer to understanding what secrets lie in Zeke's past than he had been before he'd begun. Giles pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and decided to take a walk.

His door creaked ominously as it shut behind him; apparently the monks didn't receive enough visitors to keep the guest quarters in tiptop shape. The ancient stone walls, with their grooves and dents, flickered with shadows from the torches along the hall. Giles turned left, towards what he hoped would be the courtyard, and tried to quell the knot of apprehension that was forcing it's way up from the pit of his stomach.

The metal gate swung silently outward under his hand as he walked cautiously past the stones of the courtyard, the warm scent of night-blooming flowers tingling his nose. He found Oz crouched on the ground, the full moon reflecting blue off the young man's pale face. Giles paused to marvel at the change, or rather, lack thereof. A werewolf, sitting 'neath the bane of his existence, unaffected.

How very amazing.

Giles lowered himself to the ground beside the werewolf, following his line of sight. The children were dancing round a pyre, tossing handfuls of twined branches and incense. Their voices lilted a chant, something spiritual.

"They're thanking the spirits of the worls for the gift of Change," Oz explained. He handed Giles a sprig identical to the children's. "Second generation werewolves. They can Change at will."

"Fascinating," Giles whispered, turning the pagan offering in his hands.

Oz hugged his knees and rested his cheek on them, eyes catching the glow of the firelight as he contemplated the ex-Watcher.

"Frederick told me about this place. He thought they could help. Teach me to control the Change." The little red-haired girl broke from the group of worshippers and ran full-tilt towards the two men. Stopping abruptly before them, she held out a hibiscus bloom in the open palm of her hand.

"It's good luck to receive gifts," she said to Giles and dumped the bloom into his lap. "I wish you good luck." She stared intently at the older man, as if awaiting something…

"Oh, yes! Thank you. It is very lovely." He tucked the flower into his breast pocket. "And whom shall I tell the others is the bearer of good luck?"

The girl ducked her head shyly and glanced at Oz for confirmation, who nodded to her.

"My name is Autumn, sir."

Giles smiled at her charming manners. "And so polite, too!" he praised.

As if his compliment were an approval of sorts, Autumn plopped herself between the two men and looped her arms through theirs. Her delicate head rested comfortably on Oz's arm, and he placed a gentle kiss to the top of her hair.

"Do you know why my name is Autumn?" she asked Giles.

"Oh, do tell."

"It's a-cause my hair is the sames colour as turning weaves." Autumn tipped her pixie face up to her father's. "Right?"

Screams pierced through the night, interrupting Oz's answer. He leaped to his feet, dragging Autumn into his arms, and took careful steps down the embankment. The children were fleeing the square, the firelight twisting their frightened faces into masks of horror.

A gong sounded somewhere in the monastery, and suddenly Oz was pressing his daughter to Giles' chest.

"Get her inside. I need to find Ryker."

Autumn clutched tightly to the collar of Giles' shirt as he ran back to the compound. Feral snarls echoed behind them and he prayed they would be able to fend off whatever was besieging them. Ryker rushed out of the doors ahead, changing into the deadly wolf as he ran. Giles caught the door before it slammed and nearly collided with Lowena.

"Mr. Giles," she greeted, but the tremor in her voice betrayed the beast fighting to escape. "Please, take the children to the great hall. It is easier to fortify."

He nodded and slipped past her. At Lowena's heels he found a handful of children staring up at him fearfully. Their pack mother reassured them that Giles would take care of them, but the call of the wolf and the screams of her family were already overwhelming her.

Giles set Autumn on the ground and shooed the children to the hall. He turned to the girl's mother. "What's happening? What are we fighting?"

Her hands trembled as she received children escaping the horrors of the battle beyond the compound. "Ryker believes they are the sightless brothers. This used to be their church, until the Brethren ran them out." She paused to take a deep breath. "Please, Mr. Giles. I cannot remain."

But he was in no position to stop her. The implications of her words hung ominously in his mind; the sightless brothers, the two prophecies, the blobby-rock-thing and the werewolf clan…

"Mr. Giles!" One of the older boys was corralling the children and having them collect weapons. _The children, yes- they are my responsibility right now._

"Is that all of them?" he asked, gesturing at the few dozen boys and girls huddled trembling in the centre of the hall. The older boy exchanged a glance with a girl of about thirteen who was clutching a squalling child to her chest.

"Yes," she answered. The boy turned expectant eyes on Giles.

"What are your names?"

"Owen," the boy replied, "and that's Rashan."

"Are you the eldest?" Giles demanded.

"Yes."

"Can you fight?"

Owen hefted a broadsword. "I am nearly of age and am the only child trained in the art of defense."

Giles found a repeating crossbow and handed it to a boy of eleven. "Then we must make do."

* * *

Bone crunched satisfyingly beneath Oz's massive paws. One swipe could fell three Bringers, and his jaws would tear them apart like straw dolls. Blood ran through the grass and the rocks, squishing between his wolf toes and sticking to his mottled fur. A flaming sword singed his fur and the roared before snapping the Bringer's neck. _Gotta love opposable thumbs_. Ryker sprang into action, swiping a path down the hill and toppling his enemies like bowling pins. Lowena loped towards the fray, watching the fluctuations of the battle warily. 

A werewolf fell beside him and Oz leaped onto the Bringer, tearing into its flesh with his razor-sharp teeth and claws. As he flayed the body he didn't notice the spear until it pierced him through the back.

He was rushed, barely able to fend off the attack. Ryker and Lowena tried to reach him, but she was run through with a sword and Ryker was beheaded.

And then a warm breeze came, and with it a surge of strength. Oz pulled the spear from his back and skewered some Bringers. His jaw snapped at them and his paws popped their heads like juicy grapes. Rage and grief flowed fiercely through his veins and when it finally subsided all the Bringers lay at his feet.

The power faded, his conscience returned, and he gave one last painful howl at the moon before collapsing in human form. His wounds bled profusely but he had no energy left to reach the compound. It was over.

* * *

Several Bringers lay dead just inside the hall doors. The children had proved resourceful, throwing rocks and smashing plates against their attackers. During the height of the battle Giles had been deaf from the cacophony – now it was eerily silent. 

An anguished howl and then nothing. Owen twitched nervously beside the older man, the adrenaline of the battle still working its biological magic. But Giles was getting far too old and too accustomed to death for fighting – he knew instinctually that it was over.

"Let's tend to the wounded," he told Owen, who correctly interpreted 'We must bury the dead'.

* * *

Something warm was pressed against his back. Soft, tingling. He could smell jasmine. 

Oz blinked his eyes open and found himself in a sun-drenched field of poppies. "Huh. That's weird." He tried to roll over but he was persistently held down. Turning his head he caught a wisp of blond hair and one shy brown iris. But he was alone.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Here," came the reply, a soft caress of his hair. Oz struggled again to stand but he was gently pressed back. "Please be still. The magic will work faster if you don't move."

"Magic?" he inquired, but he wasn't really expecting an answer. "I know you?" Again, more rhetorical than anything, for he answered himself.

"Tara."

A gentle laugh. "Very good."

He didn't attempt to move, instead he tried to bring her closer. "Where are you?" His hands groped the air until they met soft flesh – an arm, a hip. If he wasn't so weak and delirious, he might have questioned why he couldn't see her, how she got there, why her presence was calming, why his back no longer hurt.

"It's almost time to go back," she whispered. Fingers threaded through his own.

This was wrong. "You're Willow's…"

Can you say it? After three long years denying it?

"…girlfriend." _Yes._ "I don't understand."

She sighed gently and brushed a kiss across his lips. "She loved us both. It connects us. The magic is using that bond to heal you."

A ripple of pleasure swept through him as memories of Willow invaded his thoughts, though he couldn't tell if they were his or Tara's.

"Loved?"

"Still loves. Deep down."

It was getting cold. The bright light of day began to fade, the poppies dimming into gore-covered grass. "Where are you?" This time he needed to know.

"With the others," she whispered, and left him.

* * *

The pack crowded around the fallen bodies of Ryker and Lowena. Autumn held her dead mother's hand tightly in both of her small ones, unwilling to leave her side. Giles ran a weary hand across his face. Wading through the bodies the Brethren blessed the corpses and marked the sign of the cross on their foreheads with holy water. 

It was a disturbing image to say the least -

Somewhere on the hill a groan sounded. A shock of red hair lifted from the ground, a pale back struggling to stand. Giles moved towards him, cursing that he hadn't checked every body himself, how could they have left an injured person out there to die?

He arrived just as Oz's legs buckled and caught him underneath the arms. "Dear lord," Giles muttered, noting the angry wound that was quickly stitching itself closed. The men and women of the pack came forward and surrounded them.

One woman hung her head in supplication; then another, and another, until all the adults and most of the children had followed suit. Giles wasn't sure what was happening, but Oz was in no condition to make any kind of response.

A small hand reached up and held tightly to the wounded werewolf's belt. Autumn did not meet Giles' questioning gaze, but Owen did.

"We acknowledge Daniel Osbourne as pack leader," he explained, and bowed his head.

Regaining some of his senses, Oz wiped a tear from his daughter's face before looking around at the pack - _his_ pack - and howling his acceptance to the moon.


End file.
